


Cutting Wrong Wires.

by fearless_seas



Category: Formula E RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Gunshot Wounds, Hospitals, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Love, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Minor Character Death, Shooting Guns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-15
Updated: 2018-09-15
Packaged: 2019-07-12 09:41:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15992591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fearless_seas/pseuds/fearless_seas
Summary: Andre always tastes like bullets.A ticking time bomb.The both of them are fumbling to cut the right wires.





	Cutting Wrong Wires.

**Author's Note:**

> This was requested on my Tumblr @pieregasly by anonymous! If anyone wants to request stuff, go ahead. Translations at the bottom.

          Andre’s lips always taste like bullets. It is mixed with the stiff scent of his cologne and, of course, a lingering aftertaste of gunpowder or sweat. But it is strange that despite everything that occurs, _he_ always stays the same. A part of him wishes that he could match that type of consistency. JEV understands he has a tendency to overthink things, not just his actions, but it is his overwhelming sense to save the lives everyone around him. These are the thoughts that paint him when the filth of the day is stripped from himself and he lies on the bed. This time, it occurs for him while Andre is away in the shower and JEV is quietly humming underneath his breath as he watches the ceiling.  

          The mattress he is laying on squeaks beneath him with every shift of his weight, there isn’t any coffee and he despises the Russian cold. He’s usually been quite good with timezones, but for now, his eyes are wide and alert with every footfall in the narrow hallway. JEV hears the water shut off and rolls over onto his side to make room. A few minutes later, Andre emerges with a towel wrapped around his waist. Amused, JEV leans on his elbow and passes an almost flirtatious grin.

          “Finished?”, he mutters, shivering at a cold chill that gusts from underneath the crack in the wooden door.

          Andre smirks smally, " _да_.” He moves to take a shirt from his bag on the floor. “You need to work on your Russian, _моя любовь_ ,” he tugs it over his head. JEV knows the language plenty well, but it is his French accent that digs out beneath every word

          “Why?”, he raises an eyebrow, “I am never sent out to mingle anyways.”

          Andre follows him from the corner of his eye for a moment, disregarding his belongings and stepping towards the bed. _Cheap motel, Di Grassi,_ JEV thinks disdainfully. The frigid weather nips at his nose and Andre is surprisingly warm to the touch when he reaches to place his hands on either side of his shoulder. JEV enjoys this, small moments with only eye contact to sustain the long occasions they are otherwise apart. Andre touches his face with his fingertips, leaning over and his lips brush his shortly, “But it’s safer.” He pulls away and JEV lets out a whimper of annoyance. He digs into the bag for a second and tosses a pair of pants over. “Put some pants on,” Andre suggests, “You’re going to freeze to death and then I’ll have no one.”

          JEV pauses briefly and these words cause him to think more than he believes they were supposed to. _Then I’ll have no one_. He himself feels that he could’ve said the same. “You’ll have Lucas still,” he mumbles before crawling back underneath the sheets.

          “I suppose,” Andre shifts in besides him and his face is warm against the back of his neck as he tosses an arm over his waist. “But then again,” and his breath brings a heat to his spirit, “He’s not you, _милая_.”

          It was dangerous of them, to do with each other this way. JEV had promised himself he wouldn’t fall too deeply into things this time, a second chance. He only hopes Antonio will bring the equipment quick enough tomorrow. He falls asleep frozen, exhausted, with Andre’s breathing to lull him into sleep. He ponders:

 _Life is too short, moments such as these too rare_.

          It is a warm belief.

 

____________________________

 

          The both of them get three hours of sleep before Antonio barges into the room, shuts the curtains and flicks on the light. Immediately, Andre shoots upright, stretching to the bedside table for his weapon.

          “Chill!”, Antonio raises both of his arms defensively and Andre has to blink momentarily before setting it back on the table. JEV rubs his eyes, he hadn’t noticed he was gripping Andre’s upper arm until Antonio raised a brow at them. “You guys didn’t fuck did you?”, he grins and pressing his elbow down on the bed, releasing the pressure as the olden springs scrape together. “You would’ve blown our cover with your noises,” he rolls his eyes. Embarrassed, JEV pulls his hand away and places them into his lap.

          “Shut up, de Costa,” Andre growls, slipping out of the bed into the chill of the four am morning air. “You couldn’t of knocked?”, he whispered, shutting the crack in the drapes.

          “Nope,” he draws it out and then smiles cheekily. Antonio’s attention shifts to JEV and his brows arch high on his forehead once again, “Where is _your_ gun?”

          JEV doesn’t want to talk about his last mission. There is a brief minute where his throat closes and his hands begin to quiver. There is an image that comes with this; sometimes he peers under his nails and he still believes that there is blood caked in the cracks. Andre notices this moment of discomfort and chimes in. “Skills testing,” he interrupts before changing the subject, “Di Grassi asked for it.”

 _In actuality, Di Grassi asked for my gun, six months of deskwork and almost my certification_.

          Antonio has a short attention span and loses interest soon after not receiving a reply. “Why the _porra_ is it so cold?”, he moans, complaining and turning around the undo the technology onto the corner desk.

          “Ask Di Grassi to assign us to Spain next time,” JEV mutters, _not like we have any choice_. “Mortara and Engel are in Italy, Piquet in Nicaragua, Prost and Buemi in South Africa…”, he drones as though nobody cares.

          “We always get the winter,” Andre chorals in good humor, “Sweden, Finland, D.C. and now Moscow? Even Frijins and Bird are in _Lisbon_ for Christ’s sake!” A momentary lapse of uncomfortable silence transform the air. It feels soft on his cheeks, the cold, as though it were preparing himself for something. Antonio respites amidst that reticence and his back remains turned. An audible sigh leaves him. “Da Costa?”, Andre edges carefully, glancing to JEV with a hint of confusion in his eye. Neither of them approach and the normal, easy-going air has left the atmosphere.

          “Antonio?”, JEV stiffens, “What is it?”

          They can practically hear the gears in his head shifting. “I heard only just before I arrived,” he started quietly.

          JEV’s heart race kicks up, spilling messily into his breath. “Heard what?”, he pushes.

          “There was a problem in Lisbon.”

          “What kind of problem?”

          “Robin Frijins is dead.”

          The words don’t hit him immediately. Andre’s eyes fall to him but JEV cannot do anything for stare at an empty corner of the room where the carpet is molding. He had just seen him, just before the plane to Russia, Robin had slapped his back and congratulated him on the end of his detention in office buildings. It steals the breath straight from his lungs and he suddenly feels extremely sick. JEV only wishes that the information would’ve left him with at least one lung with which to inhale with.

          “That’s not the end of it,” Antonio finally wheels around to face them and his eyes are dull beads bleeding out from their absence of light or excitement. 

          Andre swallows, sitting calmly on the edge of the bed. “What-what do you mean?”, his voice breaks and JEV can hear the sound of him chewing on his inner cheek to contain himself.

          Antonio sighs, “Bird is missing.”

          JEV sucks in a pulse of air and shifts his focus from his absent stares to a small crack in the window where the night sky folds out over the horizon. “Why the hell weren’t we notified?”, Andre growls, his jaw moving upwards.

          “We only found out an hour ago. They missed their reconnaissent, Di Grassi sent Heidfeld to check and…”, he alters his gaze away nervously biting on his lip.

          JEV doesn’t want to imagine what that was like for Nick to see. But he remembers Lynn leaving his certification on Di Grassi’s table all those months ago. Perhaps it is more haunting than the failed mission, the lifeless gaze and Alex’s disheveled appearance. It was standing in that hallway with the memories of a phantom’s last breath in his arms. Blue lips, stiff eyes and cold hands at their sides. Sam once mentioned to him that Alex still wears his ring even after everything had happened. _Maybe I’m not ready for field work again_ , JEV muses.

          “Why are we here then?”, Andre demands, his tone taking a sharp tone that is only occasionally heard. “We should be out there looking for him,” Antonio steals a step away from him cautiously and deviates the subject even though JEV can see that his hands are visibly shaking.

          “Come on,” Antonio begins to set up the pieces of two microphones together on the table, clearing his throat, “You two need to get ready.”

          With an empty gaze, both JEV and Andre peer to each other. There is a hint of clarity in how their eyes branch together. His soul shows itself itself to the sun, shows to the rain. There isn’t anything covering his open, disillusioned thoughts. There is a pale streak of early morning light that shines through muffled curtain. He can’t help it then, but he thinks of Robin. He hates not the loss, but the remembering most of all.

          Slowly, Andre nods in confirmation and broadens his stance once again. “Okay,” he sighs.

          JEV only studied the blue tint of light fade father away from Robin...

 

________________________

 

          Andre maintains a cautious air around him until they get into the car and Antonio is absent. He nudges his shoulder gently with his own, “You’re thinking of him, aren’t you?”

          JEV peels his eyes down to the hands in his lap. He flips them over and over again but still there isn’t any blood underneath the nails as he imagines there should be. “Which one?”, he grumbles.

          “The first one,” Andre replies.

          “No.”

          “Don’t lie to me, please.”

          “Fine,” JEV shifts uncomfortably in his suit, “I am.”

          Andre exhales, reaching over discretely and sliding a hand over his knee. JEV looks to it, he should tell him to stop that, he could buck it off. But he doesn't. It fills him with an odd sense of comfort as he leans to put his hand over the interaction. “You’ve heard this a lot, but it was not your fault and you know that, right?”, his tone begs him to look to his face but JEV doesn’t.

          “I know,” and he sounds tired like he has aged a century in only two months. 

          “When’s your next meeting with your therapist?”

          “I haven’t scheduled it,” he leans his head on his elbow, his forehead meeting the glass of the vehicle.

          “Why?" 

          “I didn’t know when I would be coming back. Or if…”, to not upset Andre he hushes to a stop but the magnitude is enough.

          Andre’s grip on his knee tightens and JEV sees the carved veins of his wrist pop out under the tanned flesh. “Don’t say that,” he hisses, “Don’t ever say that, JEV.”

 _My last partner was supposed to get married in a month_.

          Eventually, in a small movement, JEV moves his head up and their eyes meet. It is calm, serene almost, witnessing the little sun behind his shadowed eyes suddenly burst into life. “ _J’aime_ ,” he murmurs discreetly into his hair.

          Andre grins and then removes his hand from his thigh. The reply of, “ _Moi aussi_ ,” blends into the scenery as the car begins to move.

          JEV wonders where Mitch is right now. He hopes Alex knows that he is sorry.

 

________________________

 

          “ _Caralho sagrado!_ Did someone just get shot?!”

          “You’re not helping, Antonio!”, Andre objects angrily, ducking his head with a shove to JEV’s back as they pass into a long hallway.

          “Seriously, are you guys okay?!" 

          JEV has learned to expect the unexpected in this job. He hadn’t imagined he’d be losing his hair and thining up, but he has through these years. It’s strange that he peers into the mirror and finds that he recognizes himself less and less with everyday. It was a simple mission: Andre sweet talks himself with a glass of champagne rolling lazily in his hand into a group of the Russian political elite. Dmitri Raskolnikov (the last name was actually Nico’s idea).

          “Why the hell do I get to be called _Александр_?”, JEV groaned a week earlier, leaning back in his chair, “That’s a boring name.”

          Nico scoffs, “Are you really going to be picky about your alias? ”

          Robin had bumped JEV’s shoulder playfully behind him, “What are you talking about? He is always picky! Why do you think he never drinks the coffee here?”

          Robin was alive then.

          JEV’s mouth is dry and his hands stiff in front of him as he sprints. It’s a long marble hallway, little reflections of the tile glisten of the ceiling. If, perhaps, he wasn’t being shot at, then he could’ve thought that it was beautiful. He sweats beneath the collar of his suit and his fingers are beginning to quake. The footsteps and shouts follow them with a peculiar whizz of bullets dashing into the stone. Suddenly, hands wrap over the back of his neckline, tugging him backwards. JEV chokes, stumbling backwards and reaching for his throat.

          “Be quiet,” Andre demands, ripping him into an open doorway along the hallway. The footsteps still beat down in the hall towards them. The only thing JEV thinks un-ironically is: _Блядь_. Andre’s hand clasps over his mouth, tugging him into his chest. “I have another pistol on my calf,” he whispers, “Reach down and get it.”

          JEV realizes it is against the rules, considering he doesn’t even have him own weapon with him at the moment. He nods and he Andre’s frantic heartbeat beats through his chest to his skin. Swallowing, he unloops himself, crouching down in the shadowed room. JEV reaches his hand up his pant leg out of the holster. At that precise moment, the shouting picks up again and a stray bullet splinters the wooden frame of the doorway. JEV throws an arm over Andre, ducking his head at the splinters fraying into his hair.

          “Andre!”, JEV shouts, a white noise ringing in his eardrums. His eyes press shut, his hand rubbing over the side of his hand. _Baise_ ,  _that hurt_. 

          “JEV, what is going on?!”, Antonio’s voice shatters in his earpiece.

          Andre groans underneath him, his back folded from the ceiling and his body hunched. “Andre?”, JEV swallows thickly, blinking his eyes through the dust and caressing a hand over their spine. At this slight contact, they crumple, sliding to the floor with his head in between his knees. He almost appears like a small child crying out. JEV lowers himself, meeting both of his hands and planting them onto his shoulders. “Please,” he quivers, prodding him, “Talk to me.” A finger taps underneath their chin, lifts his attention to his eyes. His dark pupils are wide, blown and this skin is stiff with a certain shock. JEV’s attention falls to their shoulder, “Why are you holding yourself? Show me.” Hesitantly, eyes squinting, Andre removes his hand from underneath his waistcoat. JEV has experienced his world crumpling quite a few times. He felt it when he watched Mitch’s eyes fade, when he saw Alex in that long hallway, and now as he kneels on the ground beside Andre. “What is that on your hand?”, he trembles, everything slowing. 

          Andre peers into his eyes and it is perhaps the only time he has ever seemed afraid. 

          JEV knows then what it is.

          It’s blood.

 

____________________________

 

         

          Less than thirty minutes ago, JEV had been able to sneak himself out of the eye’s view into the backroom at the top of the stairs, stripped the hard drive and hidden it into his coat pocket as though it never had happened. 

          “Do you have it?”, Antonio questioned quietly.

          “Yes,” JEV whispers, searching both ways. There must have been a silent alarm because seconds later he is on his knees with a pistol to his skull. The cold metal stabs into the outage of his neck. He is of few who doesn’t believe it’s cowardly to close your eyes when you believe you are going to die. If he closes his eyes, he could imagine anything he pleases: he chooses what he sees last. That’s what he envisions, a two story house with green fields and a setting sun. There is a sensation of ardor like no other and Andre is dressed up in these colors, all of these hues as though they were specifically for him and him alone. The gunfire goes off and JEV laments: _I must be dead_. Something thumps to the ground.

          “JEV!”, a voice hollers in the space.

          He parts his eyes and Andre is standing above looking into him. “Andre?”, he edges, nictating widely.

          “We don’t have much time,” he grabs the pads of his shoulders and tugs him onto his feet, “We have to run.” The confidence in his voice causes JEV nod and reach for his hand.

_This is my confession._

_I am dark._

_And you will always find those lighter pieces of me._

_All of my pieces._

_Just for you._

          Andre moans again and JEV snaps back to his attention. “Lotterer has been hit,” he stammers and his eyes spy about wildly.

          “Is he--is he…”

          “No,” JEV interrupts and Andre’s eyes are slits, his head reclined back and his features tight.

          “Plan B--”

          “No,” JEV snaps and Andre smirks slightly, a bit of blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. “We have to get him out of here,” he barks.

          “You have a mission.”

          “Andre has a life!”, he shouts frantically, his face heating and rising with every drip of energy. JEV can’t stand the thought of coffins, or funerals. He’s lost too many in his years, too many. For a moment, Robin snaps into his mind but he quickly shakes it away. “I can’t--”, he can hear the voices approaching, “We can’t lose another.”

          There is a recess as if all of the activity in the world as ceased. A breath, “Then do your job.”

          JEV's fist pounds into the floor and he rubs his face roughly. “JEV…”, Andre whimpers and he immediately spins towards him.

          “Yes?”, he uses the pad of his thumb to wipe away the blood. “Just keep pressing there,” he directs his hand to the wound in his collar.

          “Take this.”

          Something chilled, hard and metal drops into his hand. It takes JEV a second to want to look away from Andre’s face. “You’ll need this,” he beams softly and the light bulb in the chandelier flickers and wanes like a candle across the sweaty grime of his face. It’s a pistol. It’s _his_ pistol. “Remind us all of why you deserve this,” he nods.

          “Andre--”

          “Go,” he demands, shooing him away, “Go save us.”

          Andre always tastes like bullets.

          A ticking time bomb.

          The both of them are fumbling to cut the right wires.

          JEV slides along the tile, scampering at the sting of bullets erupting behind him. One crumbles the marble above his head. “Which way?”, he huffs, the adrenaline coursing through his veins causing him to be suddenly aware of everything in his surroundings.

          “Right. At the end you’ll get to the staircase.”

          It’s oddly quiet at this end. 

          Andre once told him: “I’m not a marrying man.”

          JEV had believed the same thing. But for now, as he dodges life and death for the first time in six months, he believes that his hand looks rather naked without a gold band on his left finger. There is a box on the door. “What is the code?”, he frantics, panning over his shoulder and then back again

          “1-9-1-8.”

          Ironic and tragic.

          He punches in the code with a shaking finger and the door buzzes.

          “Now, go up the stairs and Lopez--”

          JEV’s hand tugs open the door. But then something makes him pause on the first step. Andre. “No,” he strides away, the door crashed shut behind. 

          “Vergne, what the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

          “I’m not leaving Andre,” he purses his lips. The cuff of his sleeve is ripped, the collar of his shirt is patent at the neck. “I am not losing another person,” the ear piece irritates him and he contemplates taking it out as he passes back the way that he had come through a maze of marble hallways and doors. His heartbeat drums in his ears. 

          “Listen to me,” and it causes JEV to stop, his hand catching on the wall to steady himself. “You can’t save everyone,” and those eyes, they are there glaring into his, lifeless and dull. “You’re risking your life, your risking the life of others. He isn’t Mitch, JEV, Andre isn’t Mitch. You didn’t know what was going to happen that day. No one of us did. Robin was on that mission, Bruno was there too, you aren’t the only person at fault,” a sting pierces into his core, prodding at the very sense of who it is he is. 

          “Robin is dead. Bruno retired. I am all that is left,” his throat closes.

          A slow draw of air arrives from the other end. “Come home,” and the last sentence shatters his illusion.

          His bones ease together. “Have you ever seen someone become more and more beautiful everytime that you saw that them?" 

          “Where are you going with this?”

          “You can’t live without them." He reaches towards his ear, “I can’t live without him.” He tugs out the earpiece, “I can’t make the same mistake I did before. I’m sorry.” And, in the end, not a part of him feels guilty. 

          Andre’s eyes are closed when he arrives again. JEV gasps, sliding to the ground and his arm folds underneath his arms. “Can you stand?”, he whispers, struggling to lift his weight up. The tufts of his brown hair tickle up underneath his chin. “You’re going to be okay, Andre,” he ushers him out of the doorway. 

          “JEV…”, he stumbles at a corner, fighting to regain his balance. 

          “We are almost there,” JEV soothes, rubbing circles into his back.

          “I need to ask you something.”

          “Please,” he begs, “Don’t speak.”

          “No,” Andre frowns, his mouth twisting firmly in pain, “I have to ask you.”

          “What?”, the door is just a few meters away now.

          “Will you marry me one day?”

          JEV doubletakes and his body freezes involuntarily. The image is there once again, the nature and the sun. Everything that makes the world so beautiful in the end. His future plays like a spell in the back of his mind. He shakes it off and continues, “Why are you asking right now?”

          “Just in case.”

          “You’re not going to die,” JEV darts, his hand shifting over the keypad and the door closes behind them.

          “Please,” his whimpers. His voice is so tiny under his shoulder as he drags him up the staircase.

          “Lopez is waiting with the helicopter."

          “Jean-Eric.”

          The breath catches in his throat. A ball of matted words clinging to his tongue. “I-”, he swallows, “I will. I’ll marry you one day.”

          Andre chuckles lightly, his head tipping forward and his feet dragging, catching on the edges of the steps. “I knew you would,” he simpers. Their eyes close just before they reach the roof, his body crumpling. 

          “Andre? Andre! Hold on, love, just hold on for me.”

 

______________________________

 

          JEV hates hospitals. He despises the way that they smell, the sensory they give him. But he’s sitting beside Andre on a bed as they pick and prod at his wound. Because he is too nice, Andre doesn’t snap, he only digs his nails into the palm of JEV’s hand to contain the pain. In a simple moment of clarity, he turns to him, his attention blinking faintly into his.

          “Do you still want to get married one day?”

          The doctor holds back a laugh, “Where do you guys work?”

          JEV peers down at his clothing: his torn suit and haggard appearance. A headache throbs deeply behind his brow and bags weight heavily on his cheeks. The clock on the wall ticks past five in the morning and his vision blurs as his eyes drip for the need of sleep. “We’re lawyers,” he lies.

          Andre raises a curious brow and his face is pale, pallid in the fluorescent lighting. “Yes,” he confirms, nodding slowly, “We are lawyers.”

          The Doctor hums. “You do a lot of shooting as lawyers?” 

          “Of course,” JEV chimes.

          “Absolutely."

          The curtain around them shuffles and Heidfeld’s head peers through the parting, catching everyone’s attention. “Sorry to interrupt,” he ruffles his blonde hair with his hand and glares to JEV. “Di Grassi wants to see you.”

 _Oh boy_.

 

________________________________

 

          JEV would prefer if he could go back to the hospital with Andre’s kisses on his forehead and crawl in beside him after a long shower. The disgust is heavy upon his wretched soul. Antonio is exiting the office as he enters. There is a still moment of tension and contact before he glances to the ground and brushes past him in the doorway. Lucas stands with his head down staring at a stack of papers and he glances up at the knock gently rapping at the frame. But he doesn’t smile. He only gestures to the chair in front of his desk with a low, unruly gaze. JEV sits, his long limbs crouching and knocking together in the tiny office space.

          “You disobeyed the plan,” Lucas stiffs out. The only thing JEV notices is that they forgot to brush their hair that morning.

          JEV leans back in the chair, “I know.”

          “You could’ve gotten yourself killed,” Lucas’s vision narrows, his shadowed eyes staring out at him from behind his desk.

          “I know.”

          “You sacrificed not only your team members for yourself or your own personal agenda.”

          He rises heatedly, “But--”

          “But,” Lucas lingers, his fingers unlacing from in front of him. “You did get the hard drive, and you saved your partner successfully with a clear head.” Lucas is the type of man to draw in dramatics, the theater type nearly. 

          “And…”

          He squints and then reaches into his desk drawer. A leather badge glistens the light. “You can have your certification and your gun back.” JEV blinks blankly for a moment before reaching for it. Sliding it across the table closer towards himself and peering around it. Just the same as it was before, cracked, fraying from years of work and the weapon with his fingerprints planted all over it.

          “What are we doing to get Sam back?”

          Lucas recesses, licking at his lips in thought. “Da Costa told me you want somewhere warmer?”, he raises a brow.

          JEV shrugs, “Sure.”

          There is a pause. “How do you feel about Portugal?”

          “Why Portugal?”

          Lucas smiles sadly, “So you can murder the sons of bitches who took Sam Bird.”

          Andre told him something before he had left the hospital in between swears of agony and broken sentences:

          “Not everything is terrible in the end, isn’t it? The world isn’t so frightening after all.”

          JEV had shut his eyes and leaned his head on his shoulder.

_Especially with you, love. Especially with you._

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed! Leave a comment if you did, I read and respond to every single one. 
> 
> TRANSLATIONS:  
> да = Yes  
> моя любовь = My love  
> милая = Pretty  
> Porra = Fuck  
> Caralho sagrado! = Holy shit!  
> Блядь = Fuck  
> Baise = Fuck


End file.
